What it is
by BrownFeather
Summary: They don't know what it is, or when it had started. All they know is that they are something special; and that this might be not enough. GerMerica / Alfred x Ludwig (more and less) historical one shot story
1. It is futile

_Hello there!_

_I'm so sorry for deleting this story – Somehow, I felt it was boring and bad and beside the point and clomping on touchy subjects too much and yadda yadda, until I realized that it is really not this bad (I hope…), so I'm uploading it again. Without the first chapter, though (this one really was boring)._

_I hope those who followed it can find this story once more!_

_Yet, in case I am too careless with touchy things (and I have to admit, I didn't avoid dark spots in German history, but somehow… I'm not sure. It was easier to deal with the American issues. ^^') - tell me.  
_

_This fiction is a one shot series around American-German relations during history; it's about their feelings during different periods of time, how they met and actually it was supposed to become a romance. It turns out as a more buddy-like bromance, I think, but I'm not sure yet. _

_It was inspired by the poem "Was es ist" (What it is) by Erich Fried, so sadly these idea concerning the chapter titles is not mine._

_Enjoy!_

_And if you like, tell me what you think! (Ooohh, and if there are mistakes, in grammar, expressions or anything – I'm sure that there will be – or there's an important historical fact missing, tell me!)_

* * *

_I read a speech given by Wilson, and apparently, countries were referred to as "she" that time. _

_This chapter wasn't supposed to become a history lesson. XD (I left out some details, though, just for correctitude.) _

_And because I wrote this in a misleading fashion: the anger of the German politicians + people wasn't because Poland gained territory that used to be Prussian but because of unlimited reparation payments and a clause that blamed the whole war on Germany alone (which justified the reparations ;)). _

* * *

The Dawes plan

* * *

1924

* * *

**What it is – **

**It is futile, calculation says.**

„So your idea is what?"

Charles Gates Dawes eyed him oddly, not quite sure of himself. Well, he had just – fifteen minutes ago - learned that there were p - pe - well, people _being_ nations, having their nation's lifespan, carrying their nation's condition… all in all, being something rather disturbing to discover. Especially when someone takes only a few minutes to explain this to you and right after that drags you along to see a young man waiting, smiling at you, bidding you welcome, telling you he was the United States of America. It must be kind of unsettling. „Well – to put it short, we need countries to be a bulwark against communism. We also need our money back. The Entente needs money to pay us back. Germany needs money to pay her reparations. So we'll build a cycle."

"She can't pay it back herself?", Alfred inquired.

Dawes gave a short laugh, and coughed. "Have you seen Europe, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred nodded. „Okay. So lending money to Germany will make her our ally?"

"They'll owe us."

„International relationships go over money and power", the current president inserted. The representation of his country looked at him with interest. "They do? Okay, fine, guys. We'll just do it and see!" It was something new for him to care not only about domestic and international economic affairs. But he adapted rather quickly, Wilson thought. How did these people learn? Was it the experience of their people that taught them, did they learn by themselves?

There was silence for a long time. The three men sat in their chairs while the afternoon sun fell through the blinds of the unnecessarily huge skyscraper window. Alfred loved to see the city from up here. "We interfered in a war" he began.

Wilson perked his eyebrows up in a questioning manner. „In order to protect our interests and our people."

"And after we proclaimed our isolation once again, we are going to lend money to Europe?"

The president and the man that was the country looked at each other. "We will give up our isolation a second time", Wilson said "if necessary. And I am convinced that it is necessary. We want Europe to be stable again. We need it. No stable Europe, no one to buy our products like before."

Alfred sighed. He had always remembered the words of his second president he had heard when he had been a susceptible little boy, just become a country few years ago. They were present in his mind like an inscription carved with indelible hand. _The great rule of conduct for us is in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connection as possible. Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none relation… it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial ties, in her politics, or the combinations and collisions of her friendships or enmities. _

„What about the others?"

„You mean the other countries, Mr. Jones? Well, the UK agrees with us." Oh, so Arthur shared his opinion? Alfred was surprised. Arthur had had an unreadable face all along during the proceedings, mostly listening to the debates. "France doesn't." Alfred didn't have that much of savy when it came to the relationships between the guys over there, but Francis and Ludwig really hated – loathed – each other, didn't they? "Italy is mostly disgruntled about her share. Poland complained as well, but we can't take that into account anymore. We have bigger problems."

"What about Germany? And the other guys, Prussia and Austria?"

„Well – Prussia is not a country anymore. Austria is complaining." It was waved aside with a shrug.

Alfred knit his brow. „And Germany?"

Silence. „They hate us."

„Woah, why, what did we do?"

"Promise peace." President Wilson was too old to grimace, but that moment, his face looked like an ironic snoot.

„I believe in being a hero. Always." Alfred smiled at him encouragingly. „You tried a lot. We'll make it. We won that war and we'll get them down to peace! Just _do_ it! What's wrong?"

President Wilson looked at him, then smiled tiredly. _You are so young_, he thought. _How can you be so old? You must have seen much. Why are you standing there like a teenager?_ He silently adjusted his pinch-nez. „They are getting humbled too much. This will create anger, anger a population of 60 million people strong. It's not like everyone was agreeing about this treaty – but too many do. So we'll try to appease them over there. And lend Germany money. If we don't change something, we'll have another war there."

"Is that something that concerns us?"

He looked at the innocently interested looking representative of the American people. "Yes. Now that we aren't isolated anymore, it will not only affect our sales abroad but also _us_."

* * *

Alfred opened the door of his small apartment in Washington D. C. He was finally at home. Alfred F Jones dropped his chores, stowed away what needed to be put into the wooden refrigerator, and for the first time of the day since today at way too early am slumped onto his sofa. It had been a long day. He got rid of his leather shoes and socks, stood up again and changed into something more comfortable. With a sigh, he put away his socks and opted for preparing his dinner now. Otherwise he'd fall asleep here and now. A sandwich would be enough for today.

His radio was quiet. The thing still fascinated him. You could only use it when a broadcast was on, though, and right at the moment, there was nothing. Alfred sat down at his small kitchen table and ate (munched) his sandwich in silence.

Everything was fine and just like it should be. The war was over, they had WON, and everything in his home was just fine. And he had started to discover the world for new. He had once seen a new unknown continent, had grown up to be a nation there, and now after a long time he had seen the old continent once more.

It had been good to participate in this war. Their money was saved. They had stated very clearly that they wouldn't let anyone get near their ships or territory. They would get back their invested money. They had a name in Europe.

It was really a mess to be crammed on a small continent like the Europeans, he mused.

He was glad that his president was an idealistic man, even though being a politician that high up on the power ladder.

He wasn't even sure why, by the way. This idea of letting people decide to whom they'd like to go, to try not to humble a loser too much - It fit his perception of freedom, and of being a hero. It couldn't have much to do with his people. A lot were still upset about the Lusitania and the Zimmermann note. He should feel some reluctance as well. But yet, interestingly, after calming down, one of his first reactions had been the want to see this Ludwig, the guy that was able to make him furious, after all.

After a long time, he had seen war again. War that left a whole continent maltreated and in shock, because no one, no one had ever expected it to take so long, neither expected that none of them would back down. Until Alfred, fashionably late and full of energy, had joined. Then, it had quickly been over.

And only after the war and the peace negotiations had ended, he had seen Germany.

They hadn't been asked or invited to the proceedings, anyway, and although Alfred hadn't liked the contract they finally drafted, although he knew that the happiness of Poland needed disgruntlement on other sides, he hadn't expected – this. The shock and utter disbelief of the Germans had mirrored in their countries' personification's face. Tired, worn out like all of those that had fought for all these years, eyes full of bewilderment turning into daggers when he saw France. He hadn't spoken a word. Not while his politicians protested, a whole cabinet declared the downing of their charge and not while others finally signed the treaty declaring the whole war as their fault (being the base for who had to pay, of course), under protest. Alfred hadn't expected this man to be so dazed. The face of his elder brother, accompanying him, had been flaring with anger. And although it was the worst you could ever do after a lost war, Alfred had seen France with a bloody, badly swollen nose after the Germans had left.

Since then, his thoughts wandered back to the hall of the castle in Versailles and further to the northeast of Europe.

What might he be doing at the moment? Alfred would have loved to ask him, talk to him. About what he was thinking. About what the war had been like for him. Compare what they had experienced.

Because he knew that he had known Germany centuries ago., and because whole Europe was an enthralling foreign world he had not seen until the last years of this war.

But there had been a silent barrier between them, and Alfred who usually was oblivious to such things hadn't tried to cross it because he had other things to care about. Also, when they met for private meetings, talks, behaving like they were humans, it caused havoc most of the time. They'd end up mixing their feelings and personal relationships with their political affairs. It was nice and debilitating at the same time.

Personal life was not supposed to take priority.

Wasting only one second about what any one of them was feeling was simply not paying. It would always do harm to let personal feelings – even if it was merely being remotely interested - slip in when things came down to business. The ones he'd meet could be whatever he wanted to him; his people and his politicians would notwithstanding always affect them, the nations. They couldn't exist without breathing and _being_ their history. He had to learn this in a apinful way, fighting England, fighting his own and dear brother (he'd forget him quite often, admittedly, but!).

He'd talk to Germany some day, when the state of the world was another one. Or learn to separate politics from his personal interest.


	2. It is pain

Hunger winter of 1945/46

Denazification, Decentralization

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**It is nothing but painful, experience says **

* * *

"Hey." There was a smell of dust and some sweat in the air and it was still cold. That was most probably the reason why Ludwig sat at the inside of the charred house wall, not on the street where he had been looking for him.

The rubble women had made a break; it was so quiet that Alfred did feel like an intruder.

Germany looked up. He looked away, then back to Alfred. "Yes?"

America took the can out of his pocket. "I thought you might want some, too."

Ludwig stared at him.

When the silence became awkward, Alfred sat down next to Ludwig onto the bare concrete sill that was left of the building.

Germany became stiff and moved over an inch.

Alfred sighed a frustrated sigh. "Oh come on, now I only want to help you. Honestly." He held the can out to Germany.

Ludwig looked at him like he didn't know whether to snap at Alfred and throw the preserve into his face or take it and cry. And eventually he took it. He clutched it tightly and read the label, although he looked like he didn't really understand it. "Thank you." The words were short and chopped, but he did talk at all.

They remained that way for quite a while, both keeping silent. Just when Alfred started to relax, rummaging around his pockets for a cigarette, Ludwig started to shift around, still unsettled and scowling. "What do you want here?"

Alfred almost threw his cigarette packet against the wall out of frustration. "Oh come on, don't be an asshole."

"If you don't have anything else to do, then _leave_." Ludwig growled, spitting a quieter "Yankee" after it. He noticed the can in his hand anew, stared at it, and put it forcefully down next to him. "I-" he gritted his teeth. "have enough of you every day. I have enough, thank you. _Leave_, damnit."

Alfred huffed. "Forget it!" They both knew what he was talking about.

"Do you even know what you want?"

"…to do with Germany?" Alfred sounded lightly, but he hesitated. "Our plans did change."

"Again?"

"You install a constitution." Ludwig turned his head, surprised. "One we approve of. After that you get back your country."

"Back? How? And after that?" Ludwig asked hoarsely.

Alfred shrugged. "We'll see." Now he did light his cigarette. "Ya know, your politicians try to go on."

"Zero Hour" Ludwig mumbled.

"Yeah. You should care for politics again…" Silence. "Adenauer picked the West."

Ludwig took a deep breath. "It's okay, you know" he said. "Everything basic about your denacification is alright. The questionnaires – if you like, fine – the trials in Nürnberg – alright, you can do that – you make the people see the camps – okay! But" And now Germany's breath became labored. "You just go overboard, darn! And – separating Gilbert from me was necessary and inevitable?"

"It was."

Germany gave a laugh that was so empty of humour that it sounded like a bark. He didn't respond.

"Do you know that we wanted to dissolve you?" Ludwig raised his eyebrows when he heard the aggressive, sharp tone they had used so much the past years; he so often that it seemed difficult to him to just speak quietly. "Did you see the Morgenthau plan, _Ludwig_?"

"Why?"

Alfred clenched his teeth. It did only hurt, didn't it?

It was more than unusual for the American to shut up. It wouldn't last long, Ludwig told himself, and wished he could just stand up, walk down these streets, be alone, care for his food ration for this day, the debris, his people. Not for this annoying, hatef- okay. Undesirable American. He didn't hate Alfred. He actually didn't feel hatred towards no one anymore. Not for Samuel, not for Ivan.

"We didn't do it." Alfred's voice had gotten loud one again. "YOU don't die. Only your pride does, so don't act like-"

"Why, thank you!" Germany sounded as touched as a piece of iron that got processed by an untalented smith, and simply had enough.

Alfred hissed and angrily glared at his cigarette. He began to roll it between his fingers, his hands still trembling. "In my barracks, there are posters. They show pictures of what we found in the camps. _The piles of corpses and so on_, you know what I mean."

Ludwig closed his eyes. "And?"

"The slogan is _Don't fraternize_."

Ludwig opened his eyes again, and looks at him, questioningly, and careful.

"I am trying, and I am trying damn hard. Not to feel anything towards you, living here, being here, and not to give a damn shit about you." Alfred took a deep breath. "But I keep thinking of you, seeing you in the eyes of the people on the street, I don't even know why, and you know what, I forgave you. Pretty quickly, and screw the propaganda. Is it that difficult for you to do the same, or are you just an asshole?"

Ludwig avoided any eye contact. "You are not one of them I have to ask for forgiveness."

"Fine, whatever." Alfred stayed in his spot for a long time, and now also Ludwig stopped fidgeting and became calm. Somehow, they both drifted away into their own worlds of thoughts, shaken, scathingly, furious, and, finally, calm until Alfred talked again. "You know… I would really like you as an ally. Not just because it's practical" He gave him a shining cheeky grin "and because you don't have a choice anyway. But really. I – I don't hate you. I mean, I am not disgusted by you."

Germany's eyes were glued on him. They widened.

"Uhh, well, what I wanted to say was-"

Stoic, frigid, obstinate Ludwig shoved his food ration aside and wrapped his arms around Alfred.

Ludwig _cried_. Silent and powerless and biting his lip, but he did cry.

America's brain short-circuited.

Shit, I'm bad at this, shit, I can't do this…

No one had ever told him that heroes might have to comfort their crying ex enemies once in a while.

* * *

Samuel: (not too creative) name for Israel. Adolf Hitler was either believing in or very fond of the theory of a Jewish conspirancy trying to take over world domination - reason for Ludwig to hate Samuel


End file.
